Molting Bird
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
Strange that I cannot remember
thunder or wind—
no howling or moaning,
no crashing at all
just the lightness of my plumage
and a silence
knowing a fine new feather
shall take its place.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
November draws me
into bleak arms -
crow flies overhead
I hear pandemonium -
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires -
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength -
my room
a sanctuary
at the end of the day
Featured Books
IN THE SHADOW OF THE VOLCANO
One Ex-Intelligence Official's Journey through Slums, Prisons, and Leper Colonies to the Heart of Latin America
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HOLE IN ONE
By day they had been fierce rivals in a collegiate golf competition, but at night . . .
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PRIVILEGED WITNESS
The beautiful wife of a senate candidate is dead; his disturbed sister is accused.
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